Dry Wood, Fiery Fire
by dracoJAE
Summary: this is sorta like an AU fic... warning: will def go OOC... it's also sort of a parody to the chinese movie... what happens when Hermione sticks a twig INTO Draco's butt?! =]


A/N: R&R plz, guys! And remember, this fic is supposed to be sort of a parody-so Hermione and Draco ARE rather OOC! Also, this chapter is done in Hermione's point of view (*) and Draco's POV will be represented with a (~). Okie? Okie! =)  
  
.(Chapter One: The Nose Bleeding Incident).  
  
(*)  
  
"DuMdUmdEeDEeDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...."  
  
Freaking alarm clock, I thought to myself, singing at the top of my lungs as I hastily packed my working knapsack and tied on my shoelaces. Downstairs Mom's like, "HERMIONE YOU'RE FREAKING LATE!!!" and I rolled my eyes.  
  
"ALRIGHT I'M COMING!" I shouted in reply. Dumping my portfolio into the bag I rushed down the stairs two at a time and skidded to a halt outside the office my father works in. "BYE MOM BYE DAD AND I TOOK SOME MORE HERBS FOR MY COLLEAGUES K?"  
  
Usual routine, actually, all these shouting. My family aren't exactly. sane. Dad was hollering at me to give him back his precious medicine but I was already out onto the streets. Come on, Dad! My friends need all the health help they can get!  
  
Lucky my working place's so near my house, I thought, panting slightly as I reached my office. Immediately swarmed by my colleagues I managed to plop down onto my chair and catch my breath.  
  
It didn't take long for me to regain my composure-it never does for a Granger. We are skilled in kungfu and in martial arts-what will a little run do to us?  
  
"Now, now," I said briskly, grabbing my little case from the bag and slamming it on top of the little round table where my colleagues and I would congregate sometimes to gossip. "Who's first?"  
  
"Duh, me," and I glanced up to see a smirking Ginny Weasley.  
  
"What problems do you have, now?" Unlatching the case I opened it carefully, listening to the redhead as she blabbed on about her stomach pains.  
  
"There you are, then," I said when she finished-picking some ginger roots and powdered stuff I wrapped them up in pink Chinese paper and handed the pack to her.  
  
Next was Parvati Patil, then Lavender Brown, then Ron Weasley.  
  
"Er, Ron, what's up with you now?" I asked incredulously, recalling the number of times he had approached me this week-five, if I'm not wrong, and today's only Tuesday, for Merlin's sake.  
  
"I've got PMS," he wailed, and the girls around me dissolved in laughter. "It's serious!!" he protested, mock-seriously, and I made a face at him. "It hurts! And I'm in so much pain!"  
  
Clearing my stuff from the table I knocked him on the head with my case. "Get a life, Weasley," I laughed, then returned to my table amidst his cries. "I've got work to do!"  
  
The rest of the morning was spent calling up several wizard museums and staring at the computer screen trying to figure out what to write for my column. That's right, we wizards use computers, nowadays, we do learn how to adapt, you know. And since our office is right facing the street some Muggle might intrude unknowingly (our Repelling Charms aren't THAT strong) and wonder why the hell were we using wands to do our work. But aside from the computers--- which are bewitched, by the way--- we still use quills, and parchments, and the usual ordinary stuff. Communicating with people outside the office was done by the floo-phone--- credits due, now, I supposed, to the great Arthur Weasley, Ron's dad, who managed to (finally) figure out how to use the Muggle telephone ("fellytone", as Ron still calls it) and, with his high level of intelligence and talent, came up with this invention. It works by dumping some Floo powder into a little urn, then when the reaction (whatever it is) finishes smoke will wisp out and a slight humming will sound--- after which, if the 'callee' responds by tapping his urn and saying "Telephonio" (nice spell, by the way), the conversation can start to take place.  
  
So, yeah, back to me.  
  
I write columns, basically. Even though our network of reporters working here is rather small, our newspaper, which was founded by Cho Chang, has flourished quite successfully. The price of one stack has gone up from the initial six Sickles to a shining fifteen--- and we're still profiting like mad. I guess the main reason why we work so well is the fact that not only did we all know each other since Hogwarts, we had a lot of connections everywhere, too.  
  
Just take me, for example. Who's my other best friend, besides Ron Weasley? Harry Potter. Who is working as an Auror --- Chief of Aurors, in fact, at the Ministry. So we get all sorts of juicy scoops by pestering him this way and that-of course, he's always willing to help, considering the fact that neither Ron nor I are as bitchy as Rita Skeeter-who was kicked out of Daily Prophet, by the way, because Seamus Finnigan, who's the new editor-in-chief over there, think she's bollocks. And since we have connections with Harry, that leads us to Dumbledore, who finally agreed to be the new Minister of Magic after Cornelius Fudge ran away (almost peeing in his pants) when Voldemort raided their building. And it's not necessary, I suppose, to tell you how beneficiary it is to Witches' Daily when we know the Minister of Magic personally, is it?  
  
Oh, and speaking of Witches' Daily. We're an all-girls company, actually, GIRL POWER! Cho Chang insisted on the opening day. So, you might ask, what's Ron doing here? Well first-he (surprisingly) wants to be a journalist, but he refuses to work at Wizards' Daily. We only have three newspapers here in England, actually, Daily Prophet, Witches' Daily, and Wizards' Daily. While Witches' is all for feminine power, Wizard's is the men's version of us. I've seen the people who work over there, the wizards, all tough and lean and tall and basically macho pigs.  
  
Not shocking, or what, I say, after all, who's THEIR head?  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
Uhhuh. Even as I sit here at my desk trying to concentrate on the cultural benefits of blahblahblah my mind wanders to him. Silverish-blond hair, gray eyes, tall, imposing, dark. Well that should pretty much sum up my personal impression of him. Of course, seven years back I would have insisted that he was nothing but a piece of slime, but when Voldemort took over Hogwarts he actually helped and fought on our side, so even if he still calls me Mudblood I don't really mind any more. After all we've seen his good side, haven't we? Though he's still as snobbish as ever, as arrogant as ever, oh, and did I mention it, his father Lucius is dead?  
  
I was snapped out of my, er, wandering thoughts, when Cho Chang's voice interrupted our work.  
  
"Now listen here, ladies, and. erm. gentleman," she said, clearing her throat and standing in the middle of our office space. Casting a wary glance at Ron who was rubbing his stomach balefully she continued. "I've got an important annoucement. I'll be resigning soon. We are merging with Wizard's Daily. and the new head is. Pansy Parkinson."  
  
No matter how good your imagination is you won't be able to picture our faces when the last two words were spoken. PANSY PARKINSON?! FREAKING PANSY PARKINSON?! There weren't any Slytherins working here with us, of course, most of them had died in the Hogwarts years, anyway, so we were all looking nauseous when Cho said her name. Ron had his eyes almost popping out and Lavender was reaching for a nearby paper basket. I, on the other hand, was processing the information Cho had just given us, at the speed of three kilometres per second, as usual, this is my BRAIN you are talking about, after all.  
  
Hmm. First detail. Cho's resigning. Why?  
  
Asking her she shrugged dolefully and said that it was because of Parkinson, actually, she couldn't stand her and she thought it was time to spend more time with Justin (Finch-Fletchley) anyway. I nodded.  
  
Second detail. We're merging with Wizards' Daily?!  
  
Oh man.  
  
Thirdly. PANSY PARKINSON.  
  
Which is, like, the main source of worry here. Won't she just kick us out or something?  
  
Cho said no, because Pansy told her that we are needed to make the Wizards'- Witches' Daily successful, as we are, in her words, "talented young ladies". SINCE WHEN CAN SHE CALL US YOUNG LADIES, HUH, WHEN SHE'S THE SAME AGE AS US?  
  
No, I haven't forgotten how horrible she had been to me in our Hogwarts years. And I am not planning on forgetting any time soon.  
  
"You just have to make do with it," sighed Cho heavily, and I suppressed a grimace. Great, I thought sarcastically to myself, great to be working under/with two of my most hated people at Hogwarts. Just great.  
  
-------------------------------*-------------------------------  
  
"HERMIONE IT'S TIME TO GOOOOOOOO!" yelled Ron from the next room, and I checked my Muggle watch guiltily. We were supposed to be meeting the Wizards' guys at half past two, weren't we? And. er. it's fifteen minutes past two. ALREADY?! Hurriedly I dumped my paper cup into the trash bin, punched the 'off' button on my laptop without bothering with the usual shutting procedures, grabbed my knapsack and tried to zip it in order to prevent my stuff from falling out, slipped on my sneakers which I had kicked off previously, and finally, ready to go, I yelled back, "RON I'M READY, LET'S GO!!!"  
  
The Wizards' office, as it was, wasn't much different from our own. Rather rectangular, with divisions amongst the desks, floor-to-ceiling type of windows, several potted plants here and there-they had to maintain a Muggle impression too I guess. Sitting down at their conference table I glanced warily around. Draco Malfoy wasn't here, yet, but his thugs Crabbe and Goyle were. Crabbe and Goyle! Pity they hadn't been killed in the War, I thought, then realised what a Ron-thing it was to say, or in my case, think. But, seriously, how could I have expected them to be there?! They were stupid gits, for Merlin's sake, lumbering giants with no brains. Malfoy must have hired them as his bodyguards, I thought, pleased with my conclusion. No way am I gonna be in the same status as them! It'd be an insult to my intelligence, for Merlin's sake!  
  
I fiddled lazily with my quill, sneaking a glance at the clock out of the corner of my eye. Trust Malfoy to be late, I thought disdainfully, He prolly thinks it's fashionable. Lavender and Parvati had started to drool over some new hot guy in Witch Weekly, and Ron was staring at his coffee cup blankly.  
  
One minute.  
  
Two minutes.  
  
Five minutes.  
  
Ten minutes.  
  
Thirteen minutes later Draco Malfoy finally decided to grace us with his presence. I gave him a cursory nod, then stared pointedly at the clock on the wall.  
  
I could tell he was going to smirk-his lips were curling-and then WHAM!  
  
Er. Looks like he never got to do that typical Malfoy expression, after all. How stupid could he get?! He was lying face-down on the floor, immobile. HA. Quite unimaginable, actually, if I hadn't been there and seen it for myself in the first place. DRACO MALFOY LOSING HIS EVER-SO-COOL COMPOSURE AND FALLING FLAT ONTO THE GROUND?! Not an everyday sight, you've got to admit.  
  
Naturally his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle rushed to help-more like lumbered, actually, knocking quite a lot of chairs out of their way. With their tree-trunk-sized arms they propped the former Slytherin up and smiled sheepishly at us.  
  
"Boss does that. Always." They growled, and Ron whispered into my ear that some things never change, huh?  
  
I rolled my eyes at him. Malfoy had been woken up by then ("Ennervate") and he was sort of blushing. BLUSHING. I guess seven years can make quite a lot of difference.  
  
The meeting commenced, finally, and, well, the introductions went, like:  
  
"Hi I am Lavender Brown, pleased to meet you."  
  
"Vincent Crabbe. Nice to meet you."  
  
"Hi I am Parvati Patil, pleased to meet you."  
  
"Blaise Zabini. Nice to meet you."  
  
You get the gist of it.  
  
I sort of drifted away after a while. Would be a miracle for us to work properly with each other, I thought, then cast a glance at Malfoy. He was. looking. sort of. pale.  
  
Of course, he'd always been pale, I told myself.  
  
But. this paleness was a different type---it wasn't natural; it didn't look natural. It had a sort of a grayish tinge, and peering closer I noticed that he had slight eyebags and was looking a tad sallow.  
  
What HAD happened to him this past seven years?  
  
Because I was sitting at the end of the table I was the last to intro myself. "Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you all," I said briefly, somehow, for no reason at all, catching Malfoy's eye.  
  
It was lucky that I did. Look at him, I mean. He had blood dribbling from his nose. EEW. Nobody else seemed to notice that, however, and, well, good deed of the day:  
  
"Malfoy," I said, pointing to his nose. "Your nose is bleeding."  
  
"Er. It is?" He frowned, using his index finger to test my observation.  
  
By now the rest of the staff was looking at him.  
  
"Boss, you are not well," grunted Crabbe, and I thought, DUH, DUH!  
  
With a toss of my head I stood up haughtily. Immediately all attention was given to Hermione Granger, yours truly. HA.  
  
"Now, look, Malfoy, I'm from a family with an ancestral background of specialty in kungfu and chinese medicine, so sit there obediently while I cure your nosebleed."  
  
He nodded. almost tamely, I thought. Scrunching up my sleeves I put my palms on his forehead-and pressed, hard. The blood flow seemed to stop, though there was still that line of stain above his upper lip.  
  
"You ok, now?" I asked, trying not to show my exhaustion. It takes energy, this sort of healing, it does, and I aren't REALLY trained yet. Collapsing back into my chair, I glanced warily at him. He was using a tissue to wipe away the blood.  
  
"Yeah," he replied shortly, then seemed to hesitate before-"Er, Granger, YOUR nose is bleeding."  
  
"Is it." More of a statement than a question, I sat still, tilting my head down, letting the "bad" blood get out, as was how the Chinese usually do when treating a nosebleed. Malfoy was staring at me as though I had grown a hippogriff on my head, and I shrugged nonchalantly at him. Of course, it's a weird sight, Hermione Granger with two streaks of blood from her nose. But that's the best way to treat a nosebleed my father had told me.  
  
The meeting resumed with everyone else trying not to stare too hard at me. I threw in some comments, as usual, I mean, what's the big deal, it's only two streaks, come on!  
  
Then. halfway through.  
  
I don't have cold. I don't have the flu. I don't have pneumonia.  
  
So I didn't know why I sneezed.  
  
It went, "AAATTTIIII-SHOOOOOOO!"  
  
Considering the fact that I sneeze with my nose-well-it wasn't a pretty sight. What with my nose bleed, and the force of the sneeze. erm.  
  
Blood droplets everywhere.  
  
And that's not the worst of it.  
  
Draco Malfoy was glaring at me. Looking down. er.  
  
"GRANGER DID YOU JUST SNEEZE BLOOD ALL OVER MY NEW SILK ROBES?!"  
  
Oh well.  
  
Guess he didn't change much, after all.  
  
~*~ 


End file.
